


Don't Hang Around

by AnOddSock



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2020 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Hook, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blood Magic, Blood and Injury, Bottom Dean Winchester, Butt Plugs, Embarrassment, Forced Nudity, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Isolation, M/M, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season 15, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Torture, Solitary Confinement, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock
Summary: Chuck takes Dean prisoner to keep Team Free Will running in circles and prevent them from formulating a plan to defeat him.By the time Cas finds his way to the odd limbo where Dean is being held, any shame Dean had for the way Chuck has kept him had been long abandoned. With Cas there, rescue seems just on the horizon, but there a few more things Cas will have to see--and do-- before they can make it out. A little intimacy between friends can't change much, can it? And what's a little torture between buddies? Dean can't care if Cas sees the worst in him, as long as Cas doesn't get dragged into Chuck's sadistic games too.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854007
Comments: 21
Kudos: 56
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, SPN Kink Bingo 2020





	Don't Hang Around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [metarachel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metarachel/gifts).



> For my SPN kink bingo square: anal hook  
> For BTHB square: grabbed by the chin
> 
> Rachel gave me this prompt, and the general feel, and I hope I made it worth a read. It tried very hard to become a long fic and I had to squash it back down, if it feels rushed... that's why xD. There weren't enough words to fully explain how the isolation has worn on Dean in this situation, but just imagine he's a little more messed up in the head than usual and you should be good.
> 
> I wasn't sure I'd get this done in time to catch the deadline for the kink bingo after the finale, but inspiration struck at the last few days and here we are. 
> 
> Heed the tags, but enjoy! (canon divergent for somewhere in mid season 15...)

Dean watched as the blood on the bright white walls slowly faded. As the details of his torment disappeared as though they had never existed. One by one every spot of red flickered, gone, sayonara. 

Just as they had the day before, and the day before that, and for a hundred—a thousand—days before that.

He shifted on the floor, waiting for the healing that would burn across his skin next. That would close the wounds and leave him whole. Ready to start all over again.

Just like the last time, just like every time before, and every time that was still to come.

The light glowing from the west wall flickered brighter for a second before it winked out and reappeared on the east instead. He was lost in fiery agony, a fish on a hook on a line in an endless burning sea. And then the wounds were gone, and the east wall lit, bright and ready for a new day. 

He rolled onto his stomach and pushed onto his knees, loathing the sound of the chain slithering across the floor, and the shifting feeling of the metal plug that tethered him in place. He just got his knees under him as Chuck materialised at the north wall and clapped his hands. 

“Ready to start a new day, Dean?”

* * *

There was always something in him, but the room demanded his penance in other ways too. Chuck had designed it to be uniquely tailored to Dean. He spent his days hooked to the ceiling, and his nights chained to the floor, and he spilled his blood across the white, and his own white fluid on top of that—if he failed in any of these tasks the cacophony of torture was too unbearable.

The room sustained Dean as long as Dean fed it his pain, his tears, his blood, and stayed exactly where he was meant to stay. 

He swayed and watched the light of another day reach the midday point, and ebb away into an afternoon glow. He was starting to forget what things other than white walls, and white floors, and red blood, and Chuck’s stupid face looked like. He was starting to wonder if anything else ever existed at all.

He didn’t sleep here, by Chuck’s design, and he didn’t eat here, by Chuck’s command, and he didn’t speak here unless there was someone to speak to—which there never was, and when Chuck was here it was mostly screaming, anyway.

He could withstand torture, but the monotony was wearing. Tunes kept getting lost from his head, falling out with each drop of spilled blood, until all he could manage were broken hums and half-snatches of melodies, mixed with wheezing gurgles from his throat.

So when the East wall broke open, and black nothing seeped in, and a man in a tan trench coat stepped out, Dean’s mind exploded into overload and he groaned. If he could have covered his eyes and ears he would have, but he’d been strung up by the hook (always the damn hook, always held in place in the most humiliating way) with the chain looped somewhere up over his head and the other end attached to the cuffs on his wrists. Jerking his arms down forced the hook to delve deeper into his ass. 

He jerked now until he bit his lip to hold back the groan. Half pain, half aching arousal. 

Humiliation burned, and he wished—not for the first time—that the rush of blood to his cock, and heating his face, was enough to sate the room’s insatiable desire. It wasn’t, it wouldn’t be. And now Cas was here to see exactly what Chuck had made of him.

Cas stopped, started again, faltered while trying to look stoic and unaffected—but Dean saw. Dean always saw. He dropped his chin to his chest and let it hang there, eyes closed tightly so he could pretend he wasn’t embarrassed.

Gentle hands lifted his face, a hand under his chin and he balked—that was, no Chuck did that, he couldn’t— “Hello Dean.”

He opened one eye, then the other, and focused on the care on Cas’s face, ignoring the flush on his high cheekbones.

“Hey,” he croaked. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you,” Cas said with a wry smile. “Let’s get you down, we can—”

Behind Cas the black abyss that had opened in the wall, closed. Cas cried out, running to it, hands sliding along the wall over and over again as if looking for a secret lever. Dean stood, held in place by the hook in his ass and the chains on his wrists and watched Cas lean against the now solid wall in defeat.

Rescue operation was clearly dead in the ditch, lost in the hazy white walls.

* * *

Cas still insisted on getting him down, but it didn’t stop the humiliation. The hook had pressed on his prostate for hours, shifting with every movement, and Cas _playing_ with it made his dick twitch. And well, Cas would have to see eventually if they really were stuck together.

“Do it again,” Dean whispered.

“What?” Cas paused in his examination of the chains holding Dean up. 

Dean bit his lip, staring at blue eyes instead of grey, full lips and a five o’clock shadow instead of a thin mouth and trimmed beard. He hadn’t seen anything other than white room, god himself, and his own blood and guts in for-fucking-ever, and Cas was like a vision in tan before his eyes. 

“I… I have to—can you help me come? I need to. Please.” Dean had got good at the begging thing, had lost the shame about it after a while, it was only words. No use being embarrassed when your body needed what it needed. “It won’t let me down until I do, that’s just how it works. But… I’m a little tied up at the moment.”

Cas protested lightly, even as his eyes dropped to Dean’s cock, but a little sweet talking, and a little begging, and some moans… and Cas rocked the hook back and forth in a more gentle way that Chuck never was until Dean spilled his load across the white tiles and the chains retracted and he could slump in exhaustion to the floor.

The hook came free and the pain built behind his eyes instantly. It was second nature by now to squeeze his eyes closed and stem the tide of agony, a practiced movement to transition quickly. Dean crawled blindly for the plug and twisted around to try and insert it. Cas didn’t need to help with yet more intimate problems.

Only— a hand caught his, a strong grip around his wrist and Dean groaned. “Gotta let me, Cas.”

“What is this, Dean? No, we have to be ready to run. Whatever Chuck has…. whatever he’s done I won’t let it continue. You don’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I really do.” Dean dropped his head to the floor, the cold against his skin helped the growing migraine.

Cas’s fingers touched his temples and soft angelic grace suffused his mind, filled his body—but there wasn’t any hurt, there was nothing to heal. It was just Chuck’s wrath made metaphysical, torturing Dean. Torturing him unless he had something stuffed up his ass. It was pain or humiliation, and Dean took the humiliation every time.

At least he did now, he’d humbled himself enough to realise it wasn’t worth enduring the migraine attacks. He’d rather keep his mind, and give away his body. 

“There’s nothing… Dean there’s no source for this pain.”

“I know,” he gasped. “You have’ta let me. Please. Somethin’ in me. Only way.”

Cas’s fingers let go of his wrist instantly. Except then soft probing fingers pushed at his rim and he gaped again. Shock, awe, horror. All of it mixed up and then Cas thrust his hand and he was inside Dean, two fingers up to the second knuckle and—yeah. That helped, a bit. It helped. Dean relaxed a fraction, squirming, wondering if he could get Cas deeper. Cas almost pulled away and Dean’s hand flew back to grab him and stop him. 

“Thanks, thank-you. S’better.” Not completely but—some? His hips pumped back and forth a few times, looking for the feeling of fullness that made the pain stop, and not finding it. He could cope with a bit of pain though, right? “So, what’s the plan? How’d you even find me?”

“Straight to business,” Cas chuckled, his fingers moving with the motion of his laugh. 

“Not much straight about what we’re doing right now, buddy.” Dean would have winked but the pain kept his eyes firmly shut. His mouth quirked into a parody of a smile though, and he was surprised it didn’t hurt his face to use those muscles after so long. “Come on, distract me, it still—fuck it still hurts.”

“Is it secure here, can we talk without being overheard?” Cas asked, as Dean felt his weight move and settle, his clothes brushing Dean’s bare flesh. 

Dean curled his hand back and grasped a fistful of Cas’s trench coat. He hadn’t felt softness in so long. Only hard walls, and cold metal, and Chuck’s anger. 

“Umm, no, probably not secure. I don’t know, don’t really know? Gimme the shorthand version.” 

“Our mutual friends found a way, once we could pinpoint your location. I’m sure they’ll get the door open again and then we’ll get you out.”

Dean settled his arm under his head as a pillow. He always had to spend the night on his belly, the expanding lockable plug that usually went up his ass made laying on his back or his side too uncomfortable. He eyed it, on it’s chain, looking so innocent now Cas was here. “H-how long has it been?”

“Two weeks,” Cas replied. “For you?” he added gently, coaxing Dean to tell him more.

Dean shook with laughter, unbelievable, mind numbing laughter. “Longer. Much, much longer. Seemed like… hundreds of days, years…” 

“And it’s always like this? The bare room, the—these restraints?”

Dean nodded, clenching in pain again. “He said—keep me occupied, and, well he knew ordinary torture wouldn’t work on me so… he got creative. The room is kind of an extension of him, I think. When I bleed, or come, or cry, it doesn’t hurt me. But if I’m not held down the way I’m supposed to be…”

“You get hurt,” Cas finished for him and began to stroke Dean _inside_ as he spoke, pushing on Dean’s inner walls to spread him wider.

“Fuck, buddy, Cas if you keep doing that I’m gonna blow again.”

“I want to help, Dean.”

“Then put the plug in, I need more than this my head is killing me.”

Cas moved, as Dean’s vision grew too painful to keep his eyes open, and he heard spitting, a zipper, and then—then there was bliss.

* * *

Chuck found them with Dean sitting on Cas’s lap, legs splayed out to either side, and Cas buried to the hilt inside him. Dean’s head resting on his shoulder, the pain gone, as he was full and stretched wide. 

There was a humiliated flush across Dean’s chest, warming his face, but he was also comfortable, soothed. He’d been invaded by metal ever since he arrived here, only going seconds without the hook or the plug. And now he had flesh, real and live and throbbing. Cas settled and moved with him, was warm and so much less intrusive. So the embarrassment, the debasement, he could take—if it meant Cas stayed.

His breath caught when Chuck materialised through the wall. His fears came back tenfold, magnified a thousand ways, with a hundred worries. What if Cas was ripped away now? What if Chuck added demands on Cas’s presence, now that he was here? The chance for Sam to pull them out before things got worse, came, and passed, and was left in the dust—they’d pay for the error in blood.

“So Castiel, I see Dean’s made you right at home.”

“Chuck.” Cas’s baritone was a rumble in his chest, vibrating through Dean’s body too.

“I’ve been wondering whether I should separate you, but you look so cosy,” Chuck said as he paced back and forth. “I think it’ll be better this way, more poetic, more invasive. Let you see what Dean’s become under my one on one character development.”

Cas made to get up, almost upending Dean from his lap. A wave of Chuck’s hand was all it took to beat them both back down, Dean pressed forcefully on top of Cas, crushed under the pressure of Chuck’s control.

“Ah ah ah, no you don’t, let’s leave you right there while Dean pays penance for the day.”

Dean, for his part, immediately wished he’d already ripped his skin asunder with his teeth. Not that it would’ve stopped Chuck if he really wanted to play, but this was not going to be pretty.

“Has our resident Winchester told you about how all this works?” Chuck gestured at the room, a smile spreading between his bearded cheeks.

“Some,” Cas replied. “But he has given no indication of why you’re keeping him here like this.”

“Just to keep you all running in circles trying to save him—’oh no, boo hoo, big brother is missing, we have to look for him’—while I’ve been trying to think up a way to rewrite the draft, so to speak. This is my reset room, once I know how I want it to go, all I have to do is bring you all here and I’ll do a hard erase of the bits I don’t like—and poof. We can start from page one again.”

Dean shifted, clenched around Cas’s length. Swallowed hard and was glad his dick was already spent for the day, so he wasn’t rock hard for this conversation.

“Until then Dean and I have been keeping ourselves occupied haven’t we?”

“Just get on with it, won’t you?” Dean snarled. 

“Mmm, maybe I should have the angel do it, change things up a bit?”

“Do what?” Cas growled.

“Dean needs to bleed before the day is out and we’re running out of time.”

Dean was well aware, and he swallowed the last small dregs of his pride. He hadn’t known he had any left, but apparently he was wrong.

“Please Chuck, please make me bleed.”

“What was that, I barely heard you. Actually—I want _him_ to beg for it.” Chuck pointed at Cas and Dean went very, very still.

“I will not ask you to hurt Dean,” Cas tilted his hips as he spoke, the one movement still left to him under Chuck’s invisible weight.

“You gotta,” Dean rushed to say, he could feel the itch that would lead to the burning building beneath his skin as the clock ticked to the metaphorical midnight, time running out. It would be pumpkins soon, red flesh, squashed innards, bleeding pulp. “It’s worse if you don’t. Cas! I have’ta bleed, now, please!”

Cas sang like a little bird soon enough. Once Dean began a wordless yelling, Cas begged with whatever words Chuck demanded of him. Dean was grateful, briefly. Until Chuck’s work began. Sat astride Cas, his ass completely full, Dean was slowly, methodically, torn to shreds.

Cas’s presence helped as Chuck wielded his power. It was sharp as a whip and just as effective. It sliced Dean’s torso, chest, and the tops of his legs into bloody ribbons. Until the scarlet liquid dripped into a pool beneath his toes and he slipped and slid and couldn’t keep his feet under him. He sagged on Cas, now longer supporting his own weight at all, energy spent, and only able to writhe as he screamed through the rest of the torture.

“See how beautifully the righteous man bleeds, Castiel? Not so full of himself now is he?”

Dean, head drooping to his chest, smirked. No, right now he was full of Cas. Through all his agony he was fully aware that the wriggling and jolting and clenching he’d done had given Cas another sort of problem. Cas was hard and thick inside his ass, throbbing a little too. It felt… wonderful. A counterpoint to the pain, a balm to the monotony. Cas was here, it was different, his prison had changed. He felt like a new man.

“You’ve had your fun Chuck, what more pleasure can you possibly take from torturing him?”

“For the trouble he’s caused? _Plenty._ Not to get ahead of myself or anything but having you here is like a little gift to myself, an unexpected twist. But a good one! I’ll have to think on how to make best use of it.”

Dean could see nothing besides the torn asunder bloody marks of his own body, but he heard Chuck’s approach. Sneakers squeaking on the white floor, still like the nervous little nerd Dean had first known him to be. Chuck’s hand gripped his chin and lifted it, forced Dean to look him in the eye.

As with everything else, this happened every day.

He looked up, into light grey eyes and a face full of malice. Chuck turned his face side to side, looking for something—Dean didn’t know what.

“Hmm, still a defiant subject aren’t you. I’m sure tomorrow, with the chance to start on some clever device for Cas’s development, maybe I’ll start to see some cracks.”

“Not likely,” Dean gasped. “Just be more of the same, pathetic mind games.”

Chuck slid his hand further back and he choked on the hand that held tight too close to his neck, gurgled and gasped as Chuck bent his head back farther until he stared at the ceiling. Too weak to even attempt to pull away.

“Sooner or later, Dean, you’ll realise that every reaction you give helps me learn more about how to reset you. This is a game I can’t lose.”

With a shove he pushed Dean’s head back until it lolled on Cas’s shoulder. Too weak to think about moving, he let it lay there, unashamed. His ass felt speared, and that he was a little ashamed about, but they could deal with that once Chuck made his farewell.

“Same time tomorrow, boys. Enjoy the scenery.”

Cas was just about distraught once the bastard left, and tears pricked Dean’s eyes at the thought that someone cared how much Chuck had fucked up his skin. It had been too long here just licking his own wounds, waiting for the room to heal them.

“Let me,” Cas said, placing his hand over Dean’s heart.

Dean moaned, rolled his head to the side to look Cas in the eye. “No, gotta let it happen on it’s own.”

“But you’re hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’ll live. That’s the whole point of this place.”

Cas shifted awkwardly, “Should I… let you rest, alone?”

As best he could, Dean squeezed his thighs and tried to hold Cas in place. “Nah, man, I’m more comfortable here than I have been since… than I have been.” He cleared his throat, working up to the bigger—seemed to be engorged by the minute, actually—problem. “I could help you with your, uhh, with not-so-little Cas.”

“Of course not! You’re suffering, and injured. I apologise for my vessel’s response, it’s inappropriate…”

“Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Everything here screws with you. At least,” he chuckled, eyes unfocused with the pain, but his mind clear. “At least screw me the normal way, it would be a nice change of pace.”

Cas waited a beat in an uncomfortable silence and Dean thought he was going to refuse, his hopes for some other kind of stimulation bleeding out, and feeling dashed on the floor amongst the blood.

“Are you sure?” Cas asked, voice lower, more gravelly, than Dean had ever known it.

“Yeah, let’s do it, please. I can… could beg, if ya want. Maybe press on some of these wounds and I’ll make you come just from writhing around on you.”

“No,” Cas replied, shifting in one fluid motion—and Dean remembered in a flash that his friend was a super-strength immortal—until Dean was flat on his back, his thighs cradling Cas tenderly, like lovers. “If we do this, we do it right.”

* * *

The night, only marginally less bright than the day, passed in some approximation of ecstasy. Cas came twice, and edged Dean into incoherence, just in case Dean coming more than once in a day caused some unforeseen issue. Dean’s pride took another hit as he wept, sniffling softly under Cas’s hands as he remembered sex, and his bodily responses, were supposed to feel good—not be used as a weapon.

When morning came, Cas held his hand tightly through the swift, brutal agony of being made whole all at once. He was grateful for that too, even as his gut churned over what concoction of torture Chuck might dream up for Cas.

“Ready for a brand new day?” he tried to joke, but leaned heavily on Cas and buried his head in Cas’s neck. “You’re gonna have to get the hook.”

“I absolutely will not--”

“Yeah, Cas, you will. ‘Cause you need to be ready to fight in case Chuck comes back.”

Cas put his knuckles under Dean’s chin. They weren’t grabbing or pulling, just insistently pressing for Dean to look at him. Which he did, because Cas was all he had in the world and he couldn’t deny himself the comfort. 

Cas scrutinized him and Dean sighed. “I’d much rather it was you than him, anyway.” Which was true, and if Dean was already hooked up for the day Chuck might stay away.

Cas was more gentle than ever, easing the metal into Dean in a way that made his cock twitch eagerly. Dean had a rush of shame, a new pumping of the blood, and covered his groin with his hands. Cas gave him his moment of modesty… and the chain, with nothing else to attach to, wrapped itself around Dean’s neck to keep him on his feet.

* * *

The day went faster, easier, the hook didn’t press on his prostate so much with Cas there to steady him when he tired, to stop the shifting and rocking. He was still half hard and feeling desperate, but he had someone to talk to, a distraction to occupy his mind.

He began to hope every day could be like this. Saying as much to Cas was a mistake though, because he had to watch Cas realise that he didn’t expect to ever leave this place. And why would he? He could barely recall a life outside of four white walls and humiliating pain. Cas tried to hide it, but Dean knew he’d shown his hand how low he’d fallen. Cas laced their fingers together Dean was too accustomed to being vulnerable in that room to care that he was showing weakness.

When Dean estimated it to be almost exactly a day since Cas’s arrival… the wall on his right turned black again. He was used to Cas’s dark hair, and bright blue eyes by then, so the sudden change in colour didn’t make his head ache. He was not prepared to see Sam though, and hissed, pulling away, trying to turn and hide. Cas threw himself forward, and stopped Sam from entering, so he was just a floating torso leaning through the black hole.

“Chuck will know if you’re here, be careful.”

“You got him?” Sam spoke quietly but Dean giggled in joy at hearing his brother's voice, and slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle it.

“Once we get him down,” Cas replied, putting an arm around Dean’s waist.

“Oh fuck,” Dean muttered, aware of what Sammy was about to see.

“I know, don’t think, just feel.”

And Cas wrapped Dean’s cock in one hand, and manipulated the hook with the other, and arousal mixed with fear and shame and desperation until Dean spurted with a choked groan. His knees buckled, but Cas had him. The chain retracted and he was pulled free, lifted onto unsteady feet and shoved toward the wall.

Sam grabbed his hand and hauled him through while Dean spoke--almost babbling.

“Gotta destroy this, it’s an ace up Chuck’s sleeve! It could hurt all of us.”

He blinked in surprise and stumbled as the Bunker appeared on the other side of the black. His feet hit cold tile, warm air ghosted over every inch of exposed skin.

“He’s right Sam, we must destroy this room,” Cas echoed from behind him.

Jack was there, frowning, his hand placed on the wall beside the opening. Of course he was the power source enabling Dean’s rescue. He turned a little red, and looked away, and tried to ignore Dean’s nakedness.

“How can we do it?” Sam asked, his voice high and strained. Worry probably clouding his judgement--worry over Dean, which both embarrassed and soothed him.

Dean heard the Scottish accent before he saw the redhead, and gave up any notion of keeping his modesty. “One magical molotov cocktail coming right up,” Rowena said, head already bent over a bowl.

It was a blur after that, while he collapsed to the floor and let the others work. The distant sound of an almighty boom mixed with Chuck yelling in rage just as Jack let go and the black hole closed made him laugh, then cry--both hysterically--and then Cas put two fingers to his forehead and sent him to sleep.

* * *

Chuck had kept him awake and it hadn’t felt like a deprivation when he didn’t deteriorate from lack of it. But at home, in a bed, the hours and hours of sleep reset his brain in a way that made him feel much more human.

He hugged Sam a lot in between, and wolfed down food, and revelled in the normalcy of simply being clothed. And then he went back to bed, and slipped into sleep in a repeating pattern that he thought would worry them all more than it seemed to.

“It’ll take time, you’ve been through a lot,” Sam assured him.

Jack distracted him with games and books. Rowena was apparently drinking all his scotch so that ‘ _the patient’_ didn’t get tempted.

Cas was the only one who didn’t say anything, he only watched, and stood vigil.

Dean knew that Cas understood something vital. Because something else was missing. Something he’d been used to through his ordeal. 

He was too _empty._ It felt wrong.

One night Cas slipped into bed beside him and Dean curled towards his warmth.

“You’re not alone” Cas murmured.

“I know.”

“We’re here for anything you need.”

He was ashamed of his need now, though. Outside the four walls of his prison, it burned to still crave what had hurt him. He laid an arm over Cas’s waist and sighed, and wondered… could he really ask to be filled again, just to feel right for a few moments?

Cas tilted his chin up and whispered, “Anything.”

And maybe, Dean thought, he wouldn’t even need to ask.

**Author's Note:**

> There we go! One traumatized Dean coming back to reality, and one chance for comfort by the end. I think in this series of events things could now kind of go back to be on track with the rest of season 15, but why not imagine that they somehow used Chuck's own magic against him and "reset" him back to being just a normal human writer with no power, and no influence on their lives?  
> Either that or they just lock him in a white room forever... ;D
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, thanks for reading!


End file.
